


Fractured

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), Boffin1710



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Betrayal, Jealousy, M/M, Major Character Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/pseuds/Boffin1710
Summary: The story of Alec Trevelyan, a scarred, sarcastic, hot tongued, rogue MI6 agent, who runs a nightclub in Moscow, hidden from the rest of the world.  He doesn’t give a fuck about world events happening around him.  Despite the pressure he constantly receives from the local Russian gangs, Alec’s club has become a kind of haven for similar lone wolfs, seeking to forget their mercenary life for a night with a cold drink and a warm body.  But when James, a former lover of Alec's, and the Quartermaster of MI6, show up to his club one night, bloody and battered, on the run from a group called SPECTRE, Alec faces a tough challenge which will bring up unforeseen complications, possible heartbreak and ultimately an excruciating decision to make.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Venstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/gifts).



> A special thank you to ever lovely Venstar for the brilliant graphic.


	2. Chapter 2

Q hissed in pain as Bond tried to steady himself, hand that was wrapped around his waist finding what Q was positive were cracked, more than likely broken ribs. "You have to stay standing James. If you fall down I won't be able to get you up again."

Bond was bleeding badly from a stab wound to his bad shoulder and concussed from a chair broken over his head and shoulders.

  
This mission had been questionable from the start but they had all decided, even M, it was their last chance to retrieve the much needed data on a branch of the Spectre organization which they had been searching for a long time. So much needed that MI6 was willing to risk sending their Quartermaster out into the field. Now their cover was blown. Contact dead. Safe house compromised. Moscow had become a truly daunting place for them. And Q dreaded telling Bond that he wasn't sure his message had gone through to Q Branch before his mobile crushed in the scuffle.

Q tried to pull Bond's coat around him tighter to hide the bleeding as he attempted to get them a cab.

"Stop it you bastard!" Bond's hand found his ribs again.

"Should have stayed out of the way Q." Bond mumbled.

"And let yourself get killed. I don't think so. He was just a tad too fast for me."

"And outweighed you by 7 stones, cocky little shite."

A cab stopped next to them and Q spoke to the driver in fluent accented Russian giving him a location as he shoved Bond into the car.

"Where are we going?" Bond muttered, at least that was what Q thought he said as Bond leaned into him, finding his bruised side once more.

"I swear to god James when I am healthy, I will punch you in the face.” Q jerked in pain.

"And if you must know, somewhere we might possibly get some assistance." It was a complete long shot but he hoped this was a place they could hide until they would healthy enough to travel or MI6 could reach them. It was a risk. He wasn't sure how Bond would react but it was the only option left to them.

The cab rolled into a rougher area of the city, where girls walked the streets and every corner boy was selling drugs openly. This part of town had a sense of abandonment, but also a warped pride all of its own.

"This is it," their driver pulled alongside a long low building, patched with metal shutters and with an honour guard of tattooed thugs. They watched in wary menacing silence as Q scrambled from the back of the taxi and dragged Bond upright beside him. He tossed a handful of currency onto the front passenger seat... more than enough to cover their fare and forget he'd ever seen them or their destination.

"C’mon," Q muttered, arm going around Bond's waist once more. The shaven heads watched them approach, muttering amongst themselves. One, built like a brick shithouse, stood and silently pulled the front door open to let them pass.

Once inside Q let out a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Bond was leaning heavily on him and seemed even more confused than he had been a half hour earlier. Q didn't like the implications of that, what with Bond's head injury.

"Sit!" Q deposited the agent in a shabby booth, shoving the agent's legs beneath the table and trying to prop him upright against the balding velour seating. "I need to make some..."

A tall figure loomed behind the Quartermaster, menacing, shadowed. He elbowed the slim man out of the way and glared down at Bond silently for a few minutes.

"What the bloody fuck are you doing here?" Russian accent, English diction. Bond's eyes snapped upward so fast his brain swam and threatened to dump him on the floor under the table. Q reacted quickly, clamped his hand over Bond's mouth and leaned towards the Russian.

"Trevelyan I assume? We need your assistance."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Don't ever use that name around here!" Trevelyan pointed a finger at Q. "That person no longer exists."

"We were hoping..." Q began but was quickly interrupted by the larger man stepping directly into his personal space towering over him.

"I don't care what you think you want or need, you are going to take him," pointing at Bond. "And be out of here in 5 minutes and I don’t ever want to see your faces again." And as Trevelyan snarled those last few words at Q, Bond chose that moment to succumb to his blood loss and concussion slipping from the booth onto the sticky dirty floor.

Trevelyan sighed in frustration and called across the noise of the bar to one of the bearlike 'greeters' at the entrance, "Georgiy, I need help!" before turning to Q. "You have some explaining to do. Now!"

Q continued to speak in Russian but Trevelyan held up a hand. "Stop! English. He won't understand." He nodded at Georgiy who was bending over the prone semi-conscious agent. Bond's jacket had fallen open and the blood stains were obvious. "Fuck! Get him in the back."

Trevelyan's man didn't even comment on the oozing red stain. Q surmised he was probably accustomed to spilled blood in this establishment. What he had uncovered about this place... this particular former agent... led him to believe that both law and security were handled on the premises. Usually with weapons.

A large pitted black mirrored door admitted them to the back of the night club. To the left was an office in darkness and a door on the right proudly proclaimed itself to be the 'Dressing Room'. Georgiy shouldered it open and dragged Bond inside. A moment later he reappeared and nodded to Trevelyan, leaving silently the way they had come.

"Why are you here?" the Russian snarled pushing past Q into the room. Bond was slumped on a shabby plastic sofa, unconscious. Trevelyan gripped Bond's chin and tried to rouse him, slapping his face. "Come on you bastard."

"Please, I'll explain. But stop the bleeding first."

The huge man cursed and tore Bond's shirt open from the hem, buttons pinging everywhere. He hissed out an annoyed breath, muttering "Fucking bastard. You turn up here like this..." He turned to Q. "I'll stitch it but as soon as he's awake you get the fuck out of here. Understood?"

“Understood.” Q was beginning to think that this was a mistake coming here, but now they didn’t really have any other option. “Our options had become very limited so to speak. I know that our employer in the recent past has had a transaction with you. I thought….”

“You were wrong to think!” Trevelyan growled at him. “But you’re here… Come on you bastard." He snarled at Bond again trying to get him to wake again. Georgiy appeared again bringing with him what appears to be a well-stocked kit of medical supplies dropping it on the floor before leaving again.

“Well just don’t stand there staring watching him bleed. Although, I should just let the bastard bleed out. Open up the kit.”  Q grabbed up the kit, hissing in pain as he struggled to hoist it up on the table next to the sofa.

“Oh not you too,” Trevelyan glanced at him rolling his eyes in frustration. “You. Sit there.” He pointed to the far end of the sofa.” I’ll see to you after him.”

Trevelyan lapsed into muttered Russian as he worked on Bond's injuries. "How many times have I done this James? Never thought to see your face again. Made sure of it."

He cleansed the wound of blood taking care to check it for any debris before getting to work with a suture needle making neat internal stitches and finishing with thicker thread.

"Six had no clue of my continued existence, so how did you find me? Why? And why now?"

He sat back and rifled through the kit for a dressing. "You can tend to this?" He snapped at Q in English.

Q responded in fluent Russian "Of course. But we can't move on. Not yet." He held his arm tight against his ribs as he attempted to stand. "And you're a fool if you think no one at MI6 knew about you."

Trevelyan scowled at the skinny man. Young. Not Bond's usual type so a colleague, but he seemed equally unlikely to be an employee of Six. Unless he was a fucking librarian. "You speak good Russian for an Englishman."

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Trouble!”  A Russian snarl and banging of a fist on the other side of the door.

“Fuck!  What now?”  Trevelyan straightened and gave the bandages a tweak he has wrapped around Q’s skinny frame.  They held, and he grunted with satisfaction.  “Don’t go running anywhere.  Stay here while I see what’s going on.  And keep him quiet, if he stirs.”  

He aimed a kick at Bond’s foot as he passed, closed the door behind him and the grate of a key in a lock confirmed that Trevelyan wasn’t taking any chances with his unwelcome patients.

Georgiy gave a toothless grin and flicked out a shining blade.  “The Shadow is here asking for you, Yan.  Got a short bloke with him, likes to throw his weight around.  Want us to tell them to make a fucking appointment?”

Trevelyan shook his head.  Bloody Bond.  That’s why the men were in his establishment now.  No foreign agent entered the city without Trevelyan being made aware of it by the man the called The Shadow.  Alec Trevelyan may be dead, but he had a lot of knowledge for a corpse, and since he’d been in his grave plenty of other agencies had come knocking.

One thing Alec was not, however, was stupid.  Aleksei Yanovich did not stay alive by spilling all of the British Security Services secrets and making himself dispensible.  No…  Alec weighed each piece of intelligence carefully, embellished or tweaked enough, and sold it on in bits and pieces tangled up in a whole lot of fabricated trash.

Yanovich was useful, but only while these visitors were unaware that MI6 had a presence in his back room.

Trevelyan headed to the front of his establishment with stack of receipts in hand to greet his visitors presenting a picture of being interrupted doing bookwork.     
  
"And what do I owe this unfortunate pleasure of a visit from you today?" he directed towards the one called the Shadow.     
  
"Aleksie.  Is that the way to greet and old friend."     
  
"One who usually brings trouble to my doorstep, it is."  Trevelyan motioned to one of his men to bring them a bottle and glasses as he moved toward the closest table the two men following him.   "Are you buying or selling today?"  He continued casually.   
  
"Offering," the other man added without introducing himself immediately.  "And asking for any information that might come your way."   
  
"Aleksei Yanovich." Trevelyan offered his hand across the table. "I do not do business with someone which I have not been introduced."   
  
Q paced the small cluttered office beginning to wonder now if this was a good idea coming here.  Although it wasn't as if they had many options.  He checked on Bond who seemed to be dead to the world still and hoped that his final message to Six had somehow gotten through before he had his last bit of tech compromised. 

The short man sat opposite Trevelyan and fixed his pale grey eyes on the much larger man.  Men like the former British agent didn’t intimidate him.  He had dealt with dictators, murderers, people who placed no value on human life at all, unless it was there own.  He slid a mobile phone across the table.

“This man.  You know him.  He is an agent of MI6, James Bond.”

Trevelyan glanced at the phone and shrugged.  “Dead.  Killed the bastard myself.”

“Not dead enough, Mr Yanovich.  He is in the city with his ‘secretary’.  This man…”  His stubby finger stroked across the phone screen to another photograph.  “These pictures were taken three nights ago in a high price hotel.  Unfortunately, the people assigned to keep tabs on the pair were less skilled than yourself at tracking and watching.  I want you to find them.  Always supposing they don’t find you first.”

Trevelyan drained his glass and shuffled his paperwork, eager to get rid of his guests.  Georgiy loomed behind him, silently encouraging them to leave.  The rest of his ‘gang’ lounged around the entrance to the bar, laughing and joking, but with an alertness to their leader.

“Retired,”  Trevelyan said shortly, “And if he’s here, I’ve not heard anything.”  He addressed the Shadow.  “Our agreement doesn’t stretch to me creeping around looking for ghosts.  I don’t have the time, if I’m to meet my existing obligations to your organisation.  Don’t bring him here again.  Georgiy will see you out.”

Trevelyan lurked just beyond the door to the bar until he was sure the visitors had left in their sleek black car.  He unlocked the door but barely had a chance to push it open before it was yanked back and the dark haired kid was glaring up at him.  “What did you tell them?  I saw them from the window.  Will they be back?”

Trevelyan spun him around forgetting the ribs he had just bandaged and had him pinned to the wall face first before Q could react and protect himself.  Q hissed in pain barely able to hold back a squeal of pain as he hit the wall.   
  
"Are you stupid?!  Peering out the windows!  Do you want to get caught?!" Trevelyan snarled at him and cursed loudly in Russian at him.    
  
"I just..."    
  
"No another word unless it is to tell me just exactly why they are looking for you. What was your mission and how did you become compromised?"   Trevelyan was just inches from his face.   "Tell me everything because you have jeopardized my establishment and everyone who works for me by coming here."   
  
Trevelyan suddenly released him moving towards where Bond laid.  "They have pictures of you... both.  They know who he is by name. I told them I thought he was dead.” He pointed to the prone form of Bond. “You... not yet.  Just who are you?  You are no "secretary" as they think.   
  
Just then Bond began to stir slightly with a moan.     
  
  



End file.
